


In A Sentimental Mood

by orphan_account



Category: Metallica
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:07:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26479960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: James and Lars cross the line. Set in 1983.
Relationships: James Hetfield/Lars Ulrich
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	In A Sentimental Mood

_Jamaica, Queens. 1983._  
  
It's 2AM. Spring rain begins outside their rehearsal space window. The humidity weighs down the air. Cars clunk on by, spraying water onto streets and people, tires dipping into cracks. The Island lights twinkle in the distance, the magic of Manhattan subdued for the evening as the rain keeps falling, drip-dropping onto sleepy windows and staining buildings.  
  
They have to be quiet. Anthrax snores down the hall and the paper-thin walls provide no privacy. The only luxuries they have are the room itself, the old plastic mattress found in a dumpster and the sheets they counted quarters to buy.  
  
Across the street someone plays the sax, something like Coltrane. The song is soothing but the sound raises the hairs on their necks. It reminds them of the horrible truth: they could be caught. The fear leaves them shaking like scared little boys; but the want they see in their eyes causes their twin teenage rebellious spirits to enjoy the moment.  
  
They turn off the lights and lay on the mattress side by side in briefs. In silence they share a can of Bud, a poor man's Dutch courage. It warms their bellies, mellows out their shakes. Coltrane plays on like a broken record.  
  
Lars smiles at the sight of their blue sheets hanging around them like a faux canopy by clothespins. It's more like a child's fortress or tent, like they were about to break out a flashlight and make shadow puppets on the fabric.  
  
He raises a hand and shapes his fingers into a rabbit where the moonlight hit the sheets.  
  
James' lips pop off the top of his beer can. "Fuck you doing?"  
  
Lars snickers. "Isn't it obvious?"  
  
"It's a fucking shadow puppet."  
  
"Yup. A bunny."  
  
"What are you, five?"  
  
The rabbit hops along the sheet. Lars shrugs.  
  
James shakes his head. He taps Lars's extended forearm with the bottle. "You want the rest?"  
  
He makes the ears wiggle. "I'm good."  
  
James drains the rest and dumped the empty can on the wood floor. He crosses his arms over his bare chest and watches Lars create another shadow puppet, this time with both hands. A bird.  
  
The sax man stops for a minute while Lars made the bird's wings fly and the air stinks of their nerves. James' eyes drag a path down Lars' torso and stop at his briefs. He swallows hard. Lars pays no attention, but his breathing wavers as he drops his hands to his belly and the bird disappears.  
  
Another song plays, this time accompanied by piano. Lars flattens his hands on his stomach and stares up at the ceiling, counting the cracks there. James casts a shadow on his face, the moonlight illuminating them both.  
  
Sweat mats Lars' bangs to his forehead, drops dotting his nose and upper lip. There's a faint blush on his cheeks.  
  
James flushes and his stomach coils. Fear peaks with the want when Lars turns his head, his cupid-bow lips parted, his green eyes wide.  
  
He lifts a hand and rests it on top of Lars' on his stomach.  
  
Their fingers twine together.  
  
Lars smiles first, then James.  
  
They turn onto their sides, facing each other, the shadows playing on their bodies, on the sheets around them. Their hands cup their faces and bring each other closer, shaky fingers in blonde, trembling sighs in brown.  
  
Anxiety wraps around their torsos as they kiss, each breath labored and heavy, laced with tension. It's too much, too new, too fast. They're confused, scared and want this all the same.  
  
The anxiety disappears when James' arms fasten around Lars' waist and he drags his lips over the shell of Lars' ear.  
  
"It's okay."  
  
Lars wraps his shaking arms around James' shoulders. He nods yes and his body relaxes, his eyes close and he sighs as James rolls over on top of him, their lips meeting in a softer kiss than before.  
  
The sax and the piano make love in their music. They set the tone well.  
  
Beyond the sheet, there are sounds of soft little kisses, tiny gasps and muffled curses. The sheet shuffles around as they do.  
  
Lars moans. "C'mon..."  
  
The sheet flutters. James' foot sticks out the side, toes planted into the wooden floor.  
  
The mattress squeaks nearly overpower the soft mewl Lars produces in the air. James' foot disappears back under the sheet.  
  
"Shiiit," James growls.  
  
"Sorry," Lars gasps.  
  
"Shh..."  
  
Two pairs of briefs fly out from under the sheet, rattling it again.  
  
James' silhouette can be seen as he sits up. His neck is bent, his hair cascading down, his lips parted in awe.  
  
"Damn Lars."  
  
His silhouette disappears as James leans down onto Lars. The mattress moans, the wood floor cracks. Lips smack loudly in the hot air.  
  
Heavy breathing. The sax reaches a high note and stops playing. The piano goes on.  
  
James' hand slaps out of the sheet onto the floor. It scrambles around outside, until it finds the bottle of lube shoplifted from the drugstore earlier.  
  
Lars' breathing matches James': heavy, anxious and needy. They kiss louder than the long, drawn-out note of the returning sax.  
  
There's lots of shifting. Lars' knee dents the blue sheet. James' feet stick out all the way to his calves.  
  
The cap snaps off. James gulps.  
  
Coltrane gives way to an Ellington solo.  
  
Lars' hand sneaks out from under the sheet and grabs the edge of the mattress hard. Choked sounds emerge, in wonder, in pain.  
  
Small, wet smacks kiss trembling thighs. Lars' knee on the sheet shakes their fortress. The mattress shifts.  
  
"Okay?" James whispers.  
  
"Y... Yeah... yeah..."  
  
The cap shuts closed. James discards the lube outside the sheet.  
  
He shifts, sits up. His legs move back under the sheet.  
  
Lars' hand tightens on the mattress' edge.  
  
James's silhouette reappears, long hair trickling down, neck bent, lips open, breathing hard.  
  
He hooks Lars' legs over his shoulders.  
  
Lars' other hand slips out from under the sheet, grabbing the mattress' top, fingers digging in.  
  
They pant hard. James's chest heaves as visibly as Lars'.  
  
The sax returns. The piano plays. They sing and croon.  
  
The mattress shifts. The sheet flutters.  
  
The rain starts up again outside, a light drizzle, a typical summer night.  
  
Lars gasps. James grits his teeth.  
  
New York twinkles outside, living and breathing. The drizzle pitter-patters drops on their open windowsill.  
  
Lars chokes on his next breath. James' grips Lars' thighs harder.  
  
The sax and the piano change their tune, but keep the tempo.  
  
Lars' hands shake the bed. James gasps for air.  
  
A loud, kneading wail of pain from Lars fills the silence.  
  
"Fuck." James shifts backwards and moves Lars' legs off his shoulders. One of them escapes out of the sheet, trembling uncontrollably.  
  
James snatches the lube outside. The cap snaps open again as he huffs in frustration. His silhouette leans forward.  
  
Lars's hands tighten harder on the mattress. His breath quickens in fear.  
  
James' free hand grabs Lars' shaking leg and returns it underneath the sheet. The sheet moves as he pets it, the elbow beating against the back sheet.  
  
The sax plays a long low note. James snaps the top closed and discards the lube again.  
  
Lars situates his legs around James' hips.  
  
The throbbing slow tempo continues on and on.  
  
James leans forward so their chests meet. His silhouette disappears.  
  
The mattress shifts. Lars' knee dents the sheet.  
  
Lars gasps again. James grunts.  
  
The mattress squeaks as James thrusts slowly in and out.  
  
Lars whimpers and violently shakes his head no.  
  
"Shit." James' hand snatches the lube outside the sheet and pops open the cap again.  
  
Lars rubs James' thigh. "I'm sorry…"  
  
James muffles him quiet with a hard kiss. Lars moans into it, his fingers snaking away from the mattress back under the sheets.  
  
More lube is used. James' elbows dig into the mattress, framing Lars’ face. They kiss over and over, panting hard. The mattress dips and the sheets shift around as James slithers down Lars' body for his spread legs again.  
  
His elbow stabs the sheet over and over, fingers shifting, moving, delving inside, and Lars chokes on his next breath, and the next, and the next.  
  
There's more shifting, more kisses shared, more gasps and moans. James' hand wipes his lubed fingers against the outside of the mattress.  
His large hands grasp Lars' knees tight.  
  
Lars sneaks his hands past the sheet again. They barely squeeze the mattress before James snatches them up, holding his wrists, bringing them back inside.  
  
"Relax..."  
  
They kiss again, and again, and again, until James lets go of those wrists and sits up, holding his knees again.  
  
The arms don't leave the bed. The wrists stay where James planted them. Lars' breathing is even, his lips parted, his eyes wide.  
  
James presses a hand onto Lars' belly.  
  
"Relax..."  
  
The drizzle falls through the open window onto their sweaty bodies.  
  
James presses in.  
  
Lars shuts his eyes.  
  
 _Relax..._  
  
They feel every moment as they cross the line.  
  
The music plays on, the sax and the piano working in tandem, their sweet song of the night. Spring rain keeps falling and the cars drive forward and backwards, tires rolling towards destinations on wet pavement.  
  
Lars whimpers and James stops.  
  
Their eyes meet and they see what their thinking. He's inside. He's there. Above him. Inside him. It can never be what it was.  
  
Lars breathes through his nose and mouth and wraps his trembling arms painfully tight around James. He licks his dry lips and pants for air, trying to relax.  
  
James shifts above Lars. He drags kisses along Lars' neck from one side to the other as his hands roam down Lars's sides to his thighs, feeling his sweaty skin, anxious to move, but too scared to hurt Lars again. He kisses Lars's dry lips, pets his sweaty hair, pats his chest and rubs his sternum. He trails his fingers down to his bent hips and massages them. Waiting to move further in. Waiting for Lars.  
  
The sax improvs like the piano. The rain plays with them, all making love, all telling a story; a New York lullaby.  
  
Lars' breathing evens. His eyes slowly shut and his body finally slumps, limbs no longer tense.  
  
He turns his head into James's neck and breathes him in.  
  
James kisses his cheek. His hips push forward.  
  
Blue eyes wait as green eyes shake. The rain makes a beautiful melody with the sax and the piano.  
  
The sheet, the mattress, James, Lars, they all move and shift.  
  
Lars gasps in pain.  
  
"S-Stop. Stop, please."  
  
James stills. Lars pants like James does.  
  
The rain falls harder, no longer a drizzle. The moon fades away, the clouds obscuring its light.  
  
Lars' fingers dig into James' strong back. His hips sting, his body heaves, his insides quiver.  
  
James... is in. He's inside.  
  
He's... he's inside.  
  
Lars shifts around. There's some pain, there's some weirdness... but it's okay. He's okay.  
  
James pants hard, pants for any air he can. Sweat falls into his shut tight eyes. Lars is... he's... squeezing... hot, firm... and just...  
  
He moans into his neck. " _Lars..._ "  
  
Lars smiles wobbly at James' whimpered plea, his body relaxing again. He closes his eyes and kisses James's neck.  
  
"I'm okay... I'm okay..."  
  
He repeats the phrase over and over again, to relax himself and James, as hips begin to move, slowly, in and out.  
  
Across the street, the sax and the piano begin the same old song again. A female voice accompanies them this time; an old voice with such love and soul not even the rain can subdue her.  
  
 _In a sentimental mood_ , she sings, _I can see the stars come through my room..._  
  
James' thrusts are shallow and slow. Fear keeps him from trying harder. Lars stays relaxed, calmed by his smell, his kisses, and that woman's voice lullabying New York. The saxophone and the piano let her lead them.  
  
Lars snakes a hand down between them to touch himself. James tries harder and receives a kiss for it.  
  
The humidity dies down as the rains falls and falls.  
  
Lars gasps in pleasure as James touches him, strokes with him. They kiss sloppily.  
  
The mattress squeaks. The sheets rattle and shake. The wood creaks.  
  
The woman sings her beautiful loving song. The saxophone accents every lyric.  
  
James bites down onto Lars' neck and growls. Lars bites down on his fist and whimpers.  
  
Her voice never crescendos, never wavers; she sings her last line as the piano and sax end the song.  
  
Their hips buck into each other, backs bowed, gasping at their peaks.  
  
They hold on and catch their breaths as the song plays on.  
  
The woman hums along as the piano and sax stop playing. She hums on and on the melody line, as the rain transform into a drizzle again.  
  
Lars gasps when James pulls out. They pant together, staring into sated eyes. Sweat and rain.  
  
"You okay?" James whispers.  
  
Lars nods. He can't speak.  
  
James kisses Lars' reddened lips. "I'll get some water."  
  
Lars nods again. He watches James scramble out of their sheet fortress, pitter-patter across the floor naked to the bathroom sink. He shakes on the bed from orgasm, from what happened, from all the feelings he has.  
  
He's sore, really sore, and empty… but it was okay. Strange, weird, painful, but… it was okay. He has this weird feeling though that... that he was violated a little bit. His body was rejecting it, hurting from the pain... but that only lasted a few minutes. He wanted this. James wanted this. But still...  
  
Lars closes his eyes. He wanted it. It was okay. It hurt but he's okay.  
  
No more music flutters in from the outside, the light rain fading away. The moonlight returns as James does with a cup of water and some Kleenex. Lars shakily wipes his chest and thighs as James cleans up wet spots.  
  
He grimaces as he sits up to take the glass of water from James. It hurts from his butt all the way up his spine. His hands are too shaky to hold the cup but he tries his best to drink.  
  
James covers Lars' trembling hand with his.  
  
Their eyes meet as Lars takes a generous sip.  
  
His hand stays over Lars' until the whole cup of water is gone. Lars pushes the cup towards James when he finishes, smiling sheepish.  
  
"More?"  
  
James smiles in return. He takes the cup and leans forward, their eyes fluttering shut as their lips meet in a gentle kiss. And James' voice is right there, whispering over his lips, warm breath heating sweaty skin.  
  
"Okay, baby."  
  
Lars' blanched cheeks turn a dark shade of pink.  
  
James scrambles out of their sheet fortress and scrambles back with another full cup of water. Lars is calm enough this time to hold it himself and drink it all. He stares into James' blue eyes, sees his small smile, the concern, the gentleness and shyness… and he engraves in his memory like everything else tonight.  
  
When he finishes, James takes it away, placing it outside the sheet, next to the mattress. "Just in case you want more later."  
  
"Good idea."  
  
There's silence again, filled with the old nervousness that captured Lars before. He feels awkward again, way to awkward, so he looks away, turns his head and bites his bottom lip.  
  
"Um..." Lars slinks back down onto the mattress. "Goodnight."  
  
He winces as he rolls onto his side, his back to James. They shouldn't push boundaries. Lars doesn't want to scare him away, even though he wants more. This was enough. He shouldn't rock the boat too much in one night.  
  
James frowns, eyebrows knitted together and nose wrinkled, his concern and worry graduating into upset and doubt.  
  
"Hold on." He pushes Lars' shoulder down with his hand, so Lars is on his back, green eyes staring up at him wide-eyed.  
  
Lars holds his breath as James scoots closer to him on the mattress, lifts his hand to his chest and leaves it there.  
  
"You _sure_ you're okay?"  
  
The insistence in James's gruff voice, the concern in his tone, on his face, the blue eyes wide and anxious yet firm and strong— it makes Lars smile and sigh.  
  
"Um... yeah." Lars raises his hand to James' on his chest and squeezes. "I mean it. I'll be okay."  
  
James grunts. He leans forward and pecks Lars' cheek, and then lays his head down on their shared pillow. His hand yanks down the fort, clothespins flying everywhere, and covers them both with the sheets. Lars blushes again as James tucks him into the sheets and into his side.  
He can't sleep as fast and as easy as James. He stares at him for a good time, the moon illuminates some of his sweaty face. James looks so good, acne be damned. A man, not a boy, lays besides him, mysterious, strong-willed and subtly loving. James.  
  
Lars smiles. His first.  
  
He sneaks forward and kisses James gently before he closes his eyes and lets himself drift away into a peaceful sleep.  
  
During the night, the sax and the piano return for one last encore with that beautiful female voice. She sings a New York lullaby to a jazz tune spreading her soul love as the sky open up again and joins in one last time. James and Lars sleep on to their lullaby, dreaming of shadow puppets, soft sheets, spring rain and each other.


End file.
